


The Man Who Would Make Peace

by Quietbang



Series: Mightier Than The Sword [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Interviews, Journalism, Mutant Rights, Politics, This is Not How You Do Anything, This is Not How You Do Journalism, This is Not How You Do Science, mentions of bigotry, mentions of human experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quietbang/pseuds/Quietbang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this edition of <i>The Guardian</i>'s Profiles in Education, Erik Lehnsherr sits down with Charles Xavier, the Oxfordshire-based geneticist and civil rights activist whose radical views on mutation are taking the science community by storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Who Would Make Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Тот, кто несет мир](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416067) by [miroveha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miroveha/pseuds/miroveha)



> I have several pieces connected to this universe, all in this format- yes, Erik is working for the guardian, just go with it, a lot of strange people have worked for the guardian. If I ever get around to finishing the AU, this will make a nice companion piece, but I think it stands well on its own.

_Excerpt, 1995: The Guardian_

#  Charles Xavier: the man who would make peace

##  Erik Lehnsherr meets the geneticist turned civil rights activist whose radical views have ignited the Oxford science scene

Professor Charles Xavier, an Oxfordshire-based activist and chair of Queen’s College genetics research institute”. Photograph: Guardian/Universal Pictures

A casual observer would assume that Charles Xavier had come from the BBC studios, next door to the cafe he has just entered, several minutes late and sweating slightly, rather than from the Xavier Science Labs up the road (his father was the scientist Brian Xavier, his mother Sharon a famous socialite). He looks like someone who would be at home in front of the cameras- from his sweep of dark hair to his reddened cheeks, at first glance it is hard to imagine the man in front of a lecture hall. That Xavier, in his twenties, retains an air of the graduate student surely doesn't help.

He laughs when I mention this. At just 26, the youngest tenured professor in Oxford’s history is used to being underestimated. Still, I press, his appearance must make it difficult at times? 

He pauses, now seriously considering this. “In some ways, I suppose it must. Generally speaking, however, I find it useful- I don’t think I would be- and you must pardon the loathsome phrase, a friend said it in jest and now I can’t get it out of my head- the _acceptable_ face of mutant rights without it.”

Well, without it, or his vast family inheritance and notoriously well-connected mother, I suggest.

His face tightens. This is clearly a touchy subject. 

After a moment, he speaks. “I do not deny that mine has been a very privileged life,” he says slowly, “But my mother’s connections have not been so useful as it might appear. Father was a well-respected scientist, and certainly Xavier Industries has been at the forefront of its field for many years. However, Brian Xavier is long dead, and my late stepfather was not thought of very highly in the scientific community. He burned many of mother’s bridges long before they would have been of any use to me.”

He blinks deliberately, and then smiles. “Still, your point was well-meant, and I take it in the spirit you no doubt intended.”

I shuffle my notes. Xavier has a way of making you feel as though you are a schoolboy, a skill doubtless honed at the front of the lecture theatre. Clearing my throat, I continue. His father was a pioneer in early mutant research, much of which we would now declare to be unethical. Does Xavier’s interest in genetics stem from his father’s work, or does he view his role as a form of atonement? 

He frowns. “Neither,” he says shortly, before continuing, “My father was a product of his time: unfortunately for many, his time was one in which the concepts of research ethics were still being developed. However, I’m with Kant on this one, I’m afraid- in order to do wrong, one must have both wrong action and intent. I do not deny that many of my father’s actions were wrong, but they were done only with the best of intentions. His goal, ultimately, was one of understanding and compassion. He was a medical doctor before he was a physicist, and I think it showed in much of his research. Any harm he did was accidental.”

What, then, has he to say of Kurt Marko and the notorious Black Womb Project, whose methods , bordering as they did on medical torture, are infamous. Does he defend them with the same ferocity he defends his father?

“Not at all,” he says solemnly. “Black Womb always was and always will remain among my greatest shames. There can be no excuse for that.” 

He pauses, chewing on his lip. “In many ways, I feel personally responsible. I was a child, yes, and Marko had long shared my father’s fascination with mutants, though his was rather more malevolent. However, I suspect Black Womb would have always remained theoretical had I not manifested at around the same time. After all, what scientist could resist such a research opportunity?”

He says the last sentence as though quoting another. 

He looks at me, sips his tea, and smiles slightly. “We don’t conduct research on telepaths anymore , “ he says. “Modern research ethics forbid it, even if they consent. the Black Womb research on telepathic manifestation is and will remain the only study of its kind. I will make certain of it.”

A suspicion is stirring within me. The research on telepathic manifestation from Black Womb is notorious within the mutant rights community; its subject identified only by the initial ‘X’. 

Is Xavier implying that he is, or that he knew, Subject X? His smile tightens in response. 

“I rather suspect, Mr Lehnsherr,” he says lightly, “That you have already made up your mind in that regard.” 

But will he confirm my suspicions? His smile freezes, and I am reminded that Xavier , despite his youth, is perhaps the most powerful telepath in the world. 

“I see no reason to revisit ancient history,” he says. “The identity of Subject X makes no material difference to anyone living. We cannot live in the past, Mr Lehnsherr.” 

He is silent, and after a moment, I take the hint, asking him instead about his work within the mutant rights community. He seems to brighten when I do so, but something of the earlier chill remains. 

”Most of my work right now is focused on helping those who are just manifesting,” he says with a smile. “We’ve come a long way in the last ten years or so, but mutants still make up a disproportionate number of incarcerated youth, are ten times more likely to be living in poverty, and are almost routinely denied benefits by prejudiced assessment centres . Our women are more likely to be sexually assaulted, our children are more likely to be abused- it is my hope that early intervention can prevent or even stop many of these tragedies.” 

How so? Surely most of the problems he just related are a result of mundane-on-mutant violence. How can he expect to reduce them by working only with the mutant community?

He frowns. “You are only partially correct, “ he tells me, “Take, for example, the rate of incarcerated youth in the mutant community- nearly triple that of the mundane. Of those detained, many committed no serious crimes- their manifestations were violent, or sudden, and frightened their parents or schoolmates- thus, they are imprisoned , their mutations suppressed, because they are ‘dangerous’. “ 

He pauses for breath, and sips his tea. 

“Most mutants manifest due to an extreme emotional event or trauma- which lends credence to the theory that mutation is an evolutionary defence mechanism. Academic concerns aside, it also explains why so many manifestations of non-weaponized mutations are so violent. Scared children are lashing out, and the way they are lashing out scares them even more. It’s a vicious cycle, and one that could be halted if there was a real, state-wide effort at teaching control to adolescent mutants. We could even, if there were a way of doing such things and remaining ethical, test for the x-gene from birth and tailor curriculum to their needs.”

Segregation? Conventional wisdom suggests that that would be a step backwards. Xavier isn’t so sure.

“Although obviously we appreciate the attempts made by mundane civil rights activists at inter-gena solidarity, I think we must be very careful. Differences of mutation are not the same as differences of race of sexuality, although we share many of the problems that face those communities.” He pauses. “Unless homosexuals can also shoot lasers from their palms, in which case, I retract my earlier statement .” 

“The truth is, there are some mutant pupils who would benefit from a specialised curriculum. On the other hand, the only way we can ever hope to combat the anti-mutant violence that plagues our community is by normalising us. Showing the mundanes that mutants are their brothers, sisters,friends and lovers. It’s a tricky problem. There are several solutions I’m working on, but none that I’m prepared to commit to the public record just yet.”

A single, high-pitched beep emits from his pocket, startling us both. Blushing red, he removes a childish pink plastic watch from his pocket and silences the alarm. He notices me staring.

”My sister,” he explains, “I seem to always be late, so my sister got me this as a gag gift. Very useful, though, and I don’t mind the colour. I’m sorry, did you have any other questions? Only I’m running quite late.” 

I glance down at my notes, forgotten in the passion of the interview. Even if I were to start halfway through, the interview would take another hour at least- probably more, at the rate Xavier talks. 

I shake my head, and he flashes me a grin, pulling some coins out of his pocket to pay for the tea. He leaves the cafe in much the same way he arrived- in a flurry of wool and tweed, half-running in a strange, adolescent way. It is only now that his limp is visible, and I wonder for a moment if he had manipulated my mind not to notice it before. 

I dismiss such thoughts as being offensive to the telepath community, and glance down at my forgotten notes. I have not yet touched my tea, and it is now ice cold. 

Such is the price of interviewing Charles Xavier.


End file.
